


A Meeting At Highgarden

by seamscribe



Series: The Highgarden Series [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: Brienne of Tarth is an ugly maid of four and ten, and she will be his wife.Jaime meets his betrothed for the first time at Highgarden, where she's been fostered since their match was made.





	1. A Meeting At Highgarden

**Author's Note:**

> I began this to shake up writer's block on the next part of the Ugly Pretty Literary Universe.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. I imagined that Brienne would be pretty different in these circumstances, being raised by the Queen of Thorns instead of the odious Septa Roelle, knowing she'll be a Lannister someday. Hopefully, it is true to character at its core.
> 
> Also, very AU where Aerys died and Rhaegar became king.

  


 

A Meeting At Highgarden

 

 

    Brienne of Tarth is an ugly maid of four and ten, and she will be his wife.

 

    She will be his wife because her father is good with ships, and because _Jaime’s_ father is determined to go down in history as the man who conquered Essos. Selwyn Tarth is a celebrated captain, and his price for leaving his beloved island to help Tywin Lannister sail to glory was that Tywin arrange a good match for his daughter, Brienne. The few people familiar with her claimed she was the ugliest child in Westeros, and rather sulky, and insisted on learning to fight with a sword. This was the only part that had interested Jaime.

 

    Tywin happened to be angry at him at the time of the negotiations, because Jaime had announced his intention to join the Kingsguard and give up Casterly Rock--and the obligation to have an heir. He’s not entirely sure whether his father figured that he was doing it to stay close to his sister, whom he had kissed for the first time a year earlier, and touched for the first time not long after that, and had hardly stopped since, and whose room he had been moved far away from in the castle. He thinks his father must at least suspect, because it suddenly became difficult to find a way to be alone.

 

    When Tywin manages to convince the king to ban him from the Kingsguard, Jaime accepts it with grim resignation. He’ll never be able to talk back a deal made by his father.

 

    Besides, Cersei has already been handed off to the dragons, that sop Rhaegar with his fucking harp. _King_ Sop, since his mad father dropped dead of sheer paranoia, his heart gone still in his chest from seeing enemies at every turn. She would be Queen, what she had always wanted in her heart.

 

    Anyway, he had already kissed the most beautiful woman in Westeros, the other half of his soul. No woman could offer him anything, so what did it truly matter who he married, even if it was the most hideous woman in the Realm? Frankly, it made him laugh a bit, and his brother, Tyrion, a dwarf, had a hearty laugh indeed when they heard rumors that she, at four and ten, was as tall as Jaime already, though he was already six and ten himself, and filling out a bit more than might have been desirable in the shoulders.

 

    He had been sent off to squire at Crakehall and Brienne of Tarth had been sent off to Highgarden, Tarth itself having been ruled as too provincial a place for her to learn about running a great House. Tarth was geographically important in times of war--another reason to keep them close--but not especially wealthy or powerful, until now. Also, there were no other Ladies there to advise her.

 

    That was almost two years ago now. Brienne of Tarth has been raised with the Tyrell siblings, Loras and Margaery, in the interim. Olenna Tyrell had sent him a letter, a very _blunt_ letter, shortly after arranging his visit to Highgarden to meet his betrothed for the first time.

 

    _You have likely heard of the rumors of her lack of beauty, and while she has not grown into a pretty girl, she is young and strong and will bear you many children, which should please both your fathers. However, she will certainly never be a master of political intrigue. I do not advise taking her to court often. She can be very shy and awkward still. Nevertheless, she has wits and guts and will show them if she cares to. Most importantly, she has a deep sense of honor and loyalty and will do her utmost to make you a devoted partner and respectable Lady. She has a firm understanding of the importance of being the wife of a great Lord._

 

    And Loras:

 

    _She is_ _not_ _a pretty girl, and she can be quite overly-serious and odd._ _She is actually quite good with a sword, as well as other weapons. It is entirely unbecoming, of course, for a maid of noble birth to be sword fighting in the sparring pit, but I cannot deny her skill. In any case, she is like a sibling to me and if you are rude to her in my home, I will give you cause to regret it._

 

    And Margaery Tyrell, too, who paints a rather rosy picture of a sweet, young maiden with a ‘strong’ and ‘dignified’ stature, ‘luminous’ blue eyes, hair like pale silk, a very ‘interesting’ face with ‘darling’ freckles, and a wisdom beyond her years. Also, she had a perfectly healthy sense of humor--when she wanted. She loves to go on ‘great adventures’.

 

    Meanwhile, he hasn’t heard a peep from the girl in question.

 

    It’s a somewhat contrasting impression, an unconventional girl who loves adventure and challenging her foster brother to sword fights, but also a quiet, mannered girl devoted to her duty as the sole heir of her house.

 

    It was intriguing enough to distract him from time to time on the tedious two-week trip from Crakehall to Highgarden, which he mostly spent sulking and missing Cersei, even though she hadn’t seemed especially devastated when he left for Crakehall a year earlier.

 

    He had requested, almost begged, to be allowed to visit the Rock before he went on to meet his fate, but he had been rebuffed more than once. He feels at times that all he has is the memory of his sister to cherish, so long have they been apart.

 

    Well, there are probably uglier maids somewhere in the Realm, but if there are, he hasn’t seen them. All of the traits that Margaery has detailed had sounded nice enough on paper, but in person, they seem to make a bizarre mish-mash of a girl, the likes of which would be frowned upon in King’s Landing. Her lips are plush and full, but almost to a fault, and teeth crowded behind them. The ‘darling’ freckles are everywhere, and her nose is crooked slightly to one side.

 

    She is dressed in the Highgarden, with its rich embroidery and bold cutouts and bare shoulders. Which is good because the Westerosi style would look quite ridiculous on those arms. Cersei would have laughed at her. She better hope being the Lady of Casterly Rock allows her to make it fashionable so far north. If not, she’d look better in a tunic, frankly. Her skin is pale as milk, her cheeks stained pink. She is not quite as tall as him, but it’s a near thing. He wonders what it would-- _will_ \--feel like to embrace her.

 

    She sinks into a respectfully deep but utterly graceless curtsy and meets his eyes for a brief moment before dropping them to the ground, flushing even redder. Her eyes are as beautiful as promised, indeed, they are the color of the sapphires they call her home of Tarth after. She hasn’t been bestowed a bosom as of yet, so the deep cut of her gown is not as provocative as it might be, showing only the reach of her freckles, as well as the reach of her blush. The middle is cinched, creating a waist where he imagines there isn’t much of one.

 

    Her hair is pale and fine and part of it is pinned up, also in the Highgarden style. A crown of pale pink flowers is settled on top. They have obviously made a valiant effort to make her look like a sweet, lovely maiden fit for a Lannister husband. By the girl’s long-suffering look, she is embarrassed by the pretense. The expression is quickly squashed with a cautious glance at Lady Olenna.

 

    Margaery Tyrell is the epitome of the Little Rose, delicate and charming, but with thorns that make it clear that she has been raised by Olenna Tyrell. Loras Tyrell is as arrogant and vain as he remembers. The four of them take tea and Margaery lays out the itinerary of his visit, alarmingly dense considering he will only be here for three days. It strikes him as a bit funny that this girl, two years Brienne of Tarth’s junior, seems more invested in their betrothal than his actual intended.

 

    Still, she doesn’t sulk per se, just sits quietly, attempting to fade into the background, giving only brief answers to any comment about herself. However, when she’s comfortable with a topic, she meets his eyes and speaks passionately. She has some well-formed opinions on the state of the Reach’s granaries, of all things. When Jaime expresses his mild surprise, Loras scoffs and says, “If it’s not ladylike, Brienne is probably interested in it.”

 

    With great dignity and without looking away from her plate, Brienne replies, “A lady must know how to run a household, and a household cannot run without bread.”

 

    “Wise words,” Margaery says cheerfully. “She’s very wise,” she adds, pointedly, to Jaime.  

 

    Finally, Olenna declares that they will leave the two of them alone to get to know each other, but that someone will be watching them at all times, as Brienne of Tarth has a spotless reputation as a pious maiden, sword-fighting aside.

 

    They walk silently to a hillside garden overlooking the abundant beauty of Highgarden. When they reach the furthest point from the castle, he turns to her and is stopped short for a moment by the quiet intensity of her blue-eyed stare. Her eyes are really quite astonishing.

 

    He shakes it off and says, “Brienne of Tarth, you seem like a girl who will appreciate candor over coddling. Is that the case?”

 

She looks a bit impressed by the question and says, “It is, my Lord.”

 

    “Then I will tell you truth. You needn’t attempt to impress me.” Her face shifts before he continues, “Unless your father makes a mess of things in the capitol, we _will_ be married, whether either of us likes it or not.”

 

    She blinks at him for a moment and pauses to consider her words. He is on the verge of snapping at her to spit it out when she says, “My Lord, I know I’m likely not what you expected for a wife--”

 

    Jaime holds up a hand to stop her and says, “I never expected to have a wife, so have no worries there. In truth, my father is punishing me for wanting to join the Kingsguard and give up my claim as heir.”    

 

    Her eyes widen and she breathes, “You could have joined the _Kingsguard_?” She sounds as excited as he might have at her age.

 

    “I wanted to, but he won’t release me as his heir. Anyway, he needed a Master of Ships and a bride and your father gets him both. Besides, he knew I would hate having a fiance I had barely met.” He sighs. “Well, at least you don’t seem too boring. If you can’t be pretty, the least you can do is be interesting.”

 

    She doesn’t flinch even a bit at the back-handed compliment. “I’m sorry this match will keep you from your service, Ser.” she says, with shocking sincerity.

 

    “Yes, well, I don’t imagine you’re any more excited than I am.”

 

    She hesitates and then says, “I couldn’t ask for a better match, my Lord.”

 

    “But you probably could have done without being shipped off from your home to learn sewing and flower arranging and how to please your Lord Husband.”

 

    She bites her lip and then quickly stops, with the air of someone who’s been told off for the action many times. “I love Highgarden.”

 

    Jaime rolls his eyes and says, “Drop the courtesies and speak plainly. You realize you’ll probably never see your home again, don’t you?”

 

    Her eyes are wet for a moment and then she quietly says that she knows very well, but that the best thing she can do for her home is to make this match and give heirs to Tarth. She’s the last of her line and she has a duty to her people.

 

    “Are you always this serious?” he asks after a silence.

 

    She frowns and says, “It’s a very serious topic!”

 

    “Do you ever smile?”

 

    She flushes and frowns harder, saying, “Not many have ever called it a pleasing sight.”

 

    “Seeing is believing,” he shrugs. “At least stop grimacing like that.”

 

    She huffs and turns away. She presses her lips together for a long moment and then turns and blurts out, “The swords.”

 

    “Pardon?”

 

    “The swords. I won’t give them up.”

 

    He feigns a contemplative look, although he has already decided his response. Finally, he says, “I will make you a deal, my Lady.”

 

    She looks suspicious at that. “A deal?”

 

    “You can keep training with a sword...if you can prove you’re any good at it.”

 

    A fire lights in her eyes and she straightens up. “Oh, I’m good. If the Master of Arms would let me train with Loras, I’d be better than him,” she says matter-of-factly.

 

    “Oh, really? And what about me? Do you think you can take on a knight?”

 

    “Of course not. That would just be stupid. But you’ll be plenty impressed,” she says confidently.

 

    “Perhaps I’ll enjoy having a wife I can spar with.” She looks quite incredulous, but also quite intrigued. “So, are we agreed? Your fate will be decided at dusk in the training yard.”

 

    “Yes,” she says happily. “Only we’ll have to make sure Olenna doesn’t find out, or she’ll be terribly cross.”

 

    “If I tell her I like it, what will she have to be cross about?”

 

    “It’s not _ladylike_.”

 

    “All ladies are ladylike. How boring.”

 

    That gets a chuckle out of her. Jaime decides this marriage will probably not be completely miserable.

 

    “But Ser,” she says, leaning forward and looking so enamoured that he thinks she might try to kiss him or declare her love. Instead she says, “What’s it like being a _knight?_ ”

 

    She turns from a stoic, upright young lady to an excited child as Jaime regales her with stories from the campaign, from fighting against the Smiling Knight to saving Lord Sumner Crakehall. He recounts fond memories of Ser Arthur Dayne and a few hours pass before they’re interrupted by a servant fetching them for the mid-day meal.

 

    This time is much more lively than the stiff atmosphere before. Brienne asks him, blushing, to tell them all about the Smiling Knight. Loras is half-interested and Margaery is  bored to tears. Meanwhile, Brienne is as delighted as she was the first time. Olenna watches with cautious approval.

 

    She gives him a good show in the training pit, proving herself more than decent, and she never lets a loss affect her determination. She gets up without complaint over and over, until they quit under the fear that she’ll be black-and-blue the next day and give away the game. Back in the castle, she asks coolly if she’s passed his test. When he says yes, she breaks out into a sincere grin that puts lights in her eyes.

 

    Neither of them speak much at dinner out of exhaustion. Brienne of Tarth looks very pleased, indeed, and it at least suits her better than a frown. Jaime finds himself sharing conspiratorial looks across the table every now and then, suppressing a smile, until he remembers that he used to share the same looks with Cersei, and the thought is so strange that the food in his stomach turns heavy.

 

    After dinner, at Lady Olenna’s subtle urging, Brienne approaches him and says, “Lord Jaime. Margaery and I sometimes sing and play the harp after dinner in the garden. Would you like to join us and listen?”

 

    It’s rude to refuse, but the idea that he is here meeting his future wife for the first time while the girl he had sworn he would love forever is on the other side of the continent, is too surreal and too sad to swallow all of a sudden.

 

    He takes a moment too long to answer, because she turns her stunning eyes from his, turning red. “I understand,” she says, and hurries off, past a frowning pair of Tyrells. He abandons the poor girl to the tender mercies of Lady Olenna, who will likely interrogate her about their afternoon.

 

    His lays in bed with his thoughts whirling for what feels like half the night before he stops wallowing and makes a decision. Whatever his heart might want, Cersei is in the past, and _she_ , at least, has not looked back at it too long. Brienne of Tarth doesn’t deserve his resentment for that. She’s as helpless as he is, and whether it’s a good match or not, it cannot mean that she expects his mistreatment.

 

    He is a Knight. He must be fair and honorable. He vows to himself that he will be a good husband to her, that he will never smother her spirit, that he will not embarrass her. His lips won’t touch another’s beside hers for the rest of their days together.

 

    He falls asleep, feeling gloomy, but satisfied with his decision.


	2. A Meeting At Highgarden Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's visit continues.

 

 

A Meeting At Highgarden

Part 2

  
  


     Brienne of Tarth must be cross with him, as she does not appear at breakfast and Margaery gives him several frowns. After some time, Olenna sends a servant to fetch her only to be told that Brienne isn’t in her room. Apparently, she’s managed to slip out in the early hours. Impressive.

 

     Margaery says, “She likes to walk in the early morning.” She makes eye contact with Jaime and adds, “She’s sure to be in the orchard. We’ll find her together, my Lord.”

 

     Margaery has a servant put a basket together with bread, jam, and strawberries. As they approach the orchard, Margaery suddenly shoves the basket into his arms and says, “I’m very interested in the creek over the hill, you go to the orchard without me,” and strides away without waiting for a reply. 

 

     He doesn’t find Brienne of Tarth  until she allows him to, her voice floating down from the trees. “May I help you, Lord Jaime?” she asks politely but with a distinctly sullen tone.

     “What in hells are you doing up there?”

 

     “Nothing.”

 

     “You could fall.”

 

     She scoffs and says, “I never fall.” He hears a heavy rustling in the tree in front of him and she appears above him, making her way down with practiced skill. How Lady Olenna must love that. She’s even wearing britches under her plain dress, and her hair is a tangled tumble around her flushed and spotted face. There’s even a smudge of dirt on her chin.

 

     “By the gods, my Lady, you must have snuck out even before the maids got up,” he laughs. “You know, I’ve been calling you ‘my Lady’, but I think I might just as well call you ‘wench’,” he says, gesturing to her chin.

 

Brienne flushes more deeply as she quickly rubs at her face with the sleeve of her dress. She glares and begins to speak before apparently thinking better of it. She straightens up and tilts her chin, again saying, “May I help you, Ser Jaime?”

 

“Your foster sister said you’d be out here.”

 

“I don’t see why that means you should come here. You did not seem to feel any eagerness to be in my vicinity last night,” she says dryly, her morning walk seeming to have eased the sting of rejection.

 

“It was a very long day. One early night does not mean you’ll never capture my heart, or whatever dramatic thought you might have in your head.”

 

“I have no illusions of capturing your heart,” she snaps.

 

     “Wench, have you ever heard the word  _ obstinate _ ? As I said before, the match is made. We  _ will _ be married. So we should part on this occasion as friends, as the next time we see each other may very well be our wedding day.”

 

“Friends?” She looks fairly baffled by the concept, though he’s not sure which aspect is strangest to her: a friend, or a husband  _ as _ a friend. Her teeth overtake her lip for a moment while she gives the idea some thought. “I...I would be very pleased by that, Ser.”

 

“Good. Let us shake on it then, Brienne of Tarth.”

 

They shake hands. Jaime notes that they have calluses in the same place from weilding a sword. He’ll have to find out how she manages to get so much practice in if it’s been forbidden by Lady Olenna. He turns her hand over and kisses the back, chuckling when she quickly draws it back with a frown.

 

“Now,” Jaime says, offering his arm. “Margaery said you like adventures. What adventures are there to be had at Highgarden?”

 

Brienne hesitates, saying, “There are lots of things to do at Highgarden, only...I should go back and change into something more proper. I have perfectly nice gowns.”

 

“But you don’t care for gowns.”

 

“Not especially.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“It’s a bit more difficult to have an adventure in a skirt.”

 

“Yes, that’s a fair point, any good adventure will probably have a bit of running. Climbing. Maybe even kicking. Who made your pants?”

 

“I did,” she says proudly, then falters and adds, “Please don’t look too closely at them. My stitches are...purely practical.”

 

“Well, it sounds like we can’t have a proper adventure if you change into a skirt, so you’d better stay as you are.” That seems to please her a great deal.

 

He shows her Margaery’s picnic and they set off for a good place to settle. Brienne claims to know every inch of Highgarden and indeed leads them to a lovely place overlooking a field of Highgarden’s famous roses, although she mentions that roses are far from her favorite flower, but at least they’re not red. Jaime asks why, but she says, with a remote look, that she’d rather not discuss it.

 

     Over bread and jam, Jaime asks if she’s had her first blood yet. She flushes, but calmly replies that she has not, and she knows it seems a bit late, but very sourly adds that she’s been examined,  _ quite _ thoroughly, and there’s no reason to believe it won’t come in it’s own time. Her mother died from complications in childbirth, but they say she has a strong frame and good hips and she will, she says with a slight twist of her lips, bear him many sons. 

 

     “Or daughters,” she adds. “My apologies in advance.”

 

     After a laugh, Jaime turns serious and says, “Well, know that you’ll likely be called to King’s Landing for the wedding as soon as you do. Then it will be straight on to Casterly Rock, and I don’t know how long you’ll be stuck there.”

 

She looks into the distance with a frown and says, “Casterly Rock has been my destined home since I was two and ten, hasn’t it?” She sighs and adds, “I just hope the castellan at Evenfall takes care of Tarth well. He says the marble mines are well, thanks to your father’s assistance, and they’re rebuilding Morne but…” She launches into a long and shockingly detailed account of the current state of Tarth’s economy.

 

“You correspond with the castellan at Evenfall?”

 

“Of course. I mean, he writes regular reports to my father as well, but I’m sure he’s very busy with his duties in King’s Landing, so it never hurts to have someone else watching over things, even from so far. My septa always said I should worry more about my stitches, but embroidery won’t do us much good in a famine, will it?”

 

     “You’ll do well with Casterly Rock when it needs seeing to.”

 

     “Except for my stitches,” she smiles. “Although my septa--the septa here, I mean, Septa Caspian, not the septa from Tarth--she says there’s no reason to worry if I can embroider because when I’m the wife of a wealthy Lord, I can pay someone else to do all my sewing.”

 

     “Wise woman. What happened to the septa from Tarth?”

 

     “Lady Olenna sent her away.”

 

     “Really? Why?”

 

     “Mm…she said Septa Roelle taught no valuable lessons. She said...that Septa Roelle only taught me to keep my mouth shut and not expect much, and that keeping your mouth shut and not expecting much is the fastest way for a woman to end up with nothing.”

 

     “You’re already marrying the most eligible bachelor is Westeros, what more could you be looking for? Do you have designs on the crown?”

 

     “Heavens, no,” she shudders. “I merely expect to be…” She puffs up with a deep breath. “Listened to.”

 

     “Listened to? So you’ll be a silent wench, but not a silent wife?”

 

     “ _ No _ , and my Lord, that way of calling me is entirely unacceptable.”

 

     “I’ll call you like a lady when you stop climbing around in trees and wearing britches, alright? Until then…” She does not readily supply a counter-argument, so he considers the matter decided. “Although I hope you don’t lose your taste for adventure after we’re married. Not many men can say they have adventures with their lady wives.”

 

     “Well, I can certainly swear to always hate dresses.”

 

     Jaime laughs. “But the Highgarden style does suit you, my Lady. Ah, I mean,  _ my wench _ ,” he says, leaning toward her with a grin. When Brienne flushes again, an alarming shade of red, he can see it spread, because her gown, though plain, still has the signature deep neckline and short sleeves of a Highgarden design. It also shows her arms, which are inappropriately and nicely muscled from swordplay.

 

     He continues, “The blushes are getting more intense. Do you have a blood condition, mayhaps?” She gives him a look that, from another lady, he might assume would precede a cold comment or perhaps even a slap, but he thinks for a moment that the mad wench might actually  _ punch _ him. “I’m only teasing, wench!”

 

     Coolly, she says, “I don’t enjoy your sense of humor, my Lord, nor do I enjoy false compliments. They leave a much worse taste in my mouth than the truth.”

 

     “I will not pay you compliments I feel to be false. I truly think it looks well on you. We should insist on this style for your wedding dress. I’m not so sure about tight sleeves.”

 

     “It’ll look terrible,” she says, with the surety of someone who has given it a great deal of thought. “But I can hardly refuse to wear the style of the capitol  _ in _ the capitol.”

 

     “Just glower at anyone who shakes their head, the way you do at me sometimes. They’ll be too terrified to speak.”

 

     “Ha! You never  _ cease _ speaking. My Lord.”

 

     “Well, anyway, you’re leaving your home for this wedding, it should at least be pleasing to you.”

 

     “I have no desire for a grand wedding, but a Lannister wedding could be no less, could it, my Lord?”

 

     “Jaime. Call me Jaime.”

 

     “Alright, and you can call  _ me _ Brienne.”

 

     “Nice try, wench.” She clearly considers throwing her biscuit at his head. “And no, it couldn’t be anything less than grand. Try to practice not blushing. It won’t look good in red.”

 

     “If it were possible to control, I would gladly do so.  _ Jaime _ .” She stands and begins to repack the basket. 

 

     “I’m only teasing,  _ Brienne _ ,” Jaime complains, getting up and taking the basket from her against her protests.

 

     She merely says that they should go back and walks ahead of him. After a tense silence,  they begin to discuss more neutral matters. She asks if he’s close to his brother.

 

     “Yes, although we haven’t seen each other for some time. We write, but...reading and writing aren’t my favorite activities. They sometimes prove...difficult.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“The letters sometimes...swim a bit. It gives me pain in my head,” Jaime replies, attempting to sound casual. In truth, his difficulty with letters has felt like a black mark on him since he was a young child.

 

“That’s unfortunate. You’ll see him in King’s Landing someday when we marry, will you not?”

 

“Yes, I will.”

 

“Then it will at least be a good day in some sense.”

 

“Is marrying me such a troubling prospect, wench?”

 

“Marrying  _ you _ \--” she splutters a moment before she gathers herself and looks at him with her powerful eyes. “I meant entirely the opposite, my Lord. I know very well that I have little in the way of charms.”

 

     “My opinion of your charms doesn’t matter, firstly. Secondly, I’m more interested in having a wife who interests me than a wife who sews and barely speaks.”

 

     Brienne is then, of course, silent for a good five minutes before she says, speaking to the ground, “Do you know I was betrothed before this, twice? The first died as a child, but the second took one look at me and declared--well--it was very clear that there would be no marriage.”

 

     Jaime stops in the lane and says, “What’s that got to do with me, Brienne?”

 

     Shuffling uncomfortably, she replies, “I...I simply thought...felt..if  _ he _ felt that way--” 

 

Jaime cuts her off, “I don’t know who this boy is, but  _ never _ compare me to him.” He puts a hand on her bare wrist and says, “There  _ are _ no men like me, Brienne. Just me.”

 

~~~

 

The rest of Jaime’s visit goes well, and he feels confident by the time he leaves that being married to Brienne of Tarth is not so bad a fate. She may not be fair, but there is a loveliness in the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs. She reminds him of Tyrion sometimes, but mostly she is entirely her own person, full of surprises. 

 

     The second evening at dusk, she had entirely broken her facade of being the most serious maid in Westeros when they had chased each other through Highgarden’s famous briar maze. Loras had chided her for acting childish. Jaime had told him--really too harshly for a guest to their host--to mind his own business. Thankfully, Margaery, clever girl that she is, had broken any potential tension by laughing her airy laugh and agreeing with him, slapping her brother’s shoulder. 

 

     He had insisted on drawing her since it could be some time before they saw each other again. She had protested greatly but ultimately agreed, and he drew her looking appropriately sullen, laughing to himself the whole time, which she had not appreciated. Still, he had gotten another, slightly less gloomy one as well. 

 

     “Just don’t let anyone see or they’ll likely tease you forever about your ugly bride.”

 

     And they fight, of course. By the time he leaves, she’s started challenging him to a duel every time he makes her cross. He can see her potential, and he thinks a bit mournfully that if she weren’t a woman, she’d be a squire on her way to knighthood. She mentions that the Master of Arms at Highgarden won’t train her. Jaime has a talk with him, and makes sure to tell Lady Olenna that it would please her future husband very much if Brienne continued to practice.

 

     On his final day, they linger behind the rest of the party traveling to see him off. She seems more nervous than he’s seen her since his first day, her cheeks stained pink since they said hello at the breakfast table. It would be amusing if he didn’t feel rather reluctant to leave.

 

     He takes her hand and says, “Goodbye, Brienne. Train hard.”

 

     “At what?”

 

     “Everything.” He draws her closer. “I vow to be a good husband to you someday.” She blinks up at him and her gaze makes him catch his breath as it sometimes does. He murmurs, “Have I told you that you have very beautiful eyes?”

 

     Her breath catches similarly and she exhales, “No, you haven’t.”

 

     “Then I’ve been remiss.”

 

She brings a hand up between them and puts her hand on his chest, giving him a gentle push away. “You are a shameless flatterer, my Lord.”

 

“I merely tell the truth,” Jaime shrugs, stepping back. “Well, wench, have you got a goodbye kiss for your future husband?” He expects her to blush spectacularly and stammer and huff--it’s a bit charming when she does that. 

 

     Instead, she surprises him once more by leaning forward and pressing her plush lips against his own for a brief moment.

 

     Jaime grins and places her hand over his heart, saying, “Ah, a kiss I shall cherish for all my days.”

 

     She narrows her eyes and draws her hand back, replying, “We will fight the next time we meet, Ser Jaime."

 

The memory makes him laugh at least a dozen times on the long trip back to Crakehall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I think I may need a beta. Please contact me if you're interested.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment with your thoughts!


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